


facade

by bluemccns



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Jekyll and Hyde AU, M/M, Prostitution, a jumble of localized and non-localized names, and all the stuff that comes with prostitution, but most of it is not actually described its kind of implied, have mercy on me tbh, some have actual reasons and others are just bc i'm picky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemccns/pseuds/bluemccns
Summary: on the cusp of being able to separate the qualities of good and evil in humans, marx believes he's found a way to save his father and change the world. unfortunately, one cannot unlock the gates of heaven without unlocking the gates of hell.





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know there are several ways this story has been told, but for my own sanity, i'm sticking with the broadway musical version. the formatting on this site is killing me so please be patient. and last but not least, i hope you enjoy my garbage. it's something i just started writing for fun and i figured i'd share it.

If one were to ask the residents of the city of Krakenburg their opinion on Dr. Marx Nohr, they would most likely come away with a multitude of answers that make it impossible to decipher just exactly what type of person the doctor was. He was, without a doubt, brilliant. The dedication he showed toward his work had been unparalleled, which made him not only determined, but dangerous.

  
The truths behind his intentions were lost with him. All that remained were the fragments chewed up and spit out by the relentless rumor mill. Some believed him a villain; a demented and ruthless killer hidden in the blackness of the night. Others saw a tortured soul, damned to suffer in the name of finding a way to save his father. In truth, he was both. He was a man; a sentient being with the potential to be all those things. Perhaps that is what made him the most fearsome.

  
His grave sits to the right of his father’s. It is modest, with a simple headstone bearing his name and the dates of his birth and death. How peculiar it seems that a person with such a vast collection of stories surrounding him can be reduced to nothing more than a name and two dates. There is a second name not inscribed in the stone, however, and a second set of dates missing. An untold tale is buried with the doctor, and while it has the same ending, its beginning is shrouded in mystery to most.

  
It begins with one man.

  
The day had been chilly and overcast, typical of October in Krakenburg, though the only chill Marx felt came from the stale air captive inside asylum walls. He felt as if he had those walls memorized by every crack and bump in the concrete. At times, he could even find shapes or faces in the masonry. It seemed a bit ironic to him; he was not even the patient. He was not so much a doctor, either, as he was a visitor. With the condition of his bedridden father, it appeared that was all he could be. Of course, this was not something he could simply settle with. The desire to heal him quickly became a need that birthed the beginnings of his new and somewhat controversial research. The people of the city were not quite ready to embrace his project just yet, but it was to be expected. Fear of the unknown is typical to mankind.

Marx would eventually convince them to see the benefit of his studies. He had to.

  
“He is beyond help.”

  
The chiding voice of his younger brother shook the pondering doctor from his pensive state. Marx’s brows furrowed, revealing the deep worry lines that creased his forehead. His sister’s warnings about the toll of constant fretting seemed to have a bit of credibility after all, but he always felt his worries had been perfectly justified.

  
“What?” Marx’s voice was barely above a whisper when he replied to his brother, the hold of his fingers tightening around his father’s pallid, unmoving hand as he lain in the small asylum bed. “No. He can be saved yet. With just a bit more time, I am confident that my research will be able to- ”

  
“Enough, Marx!” The sharpness of his voice cut through the stillness and tension saturating the small space. “I have tried to be patient with you, brother, but I cannot bear to listen to your foolish optimism any longer.”

  
“How could you say such a thing, Leon? Does he mean nothing to you? He is our father. Are you truthfully so willing to let go of our own flesh and blood?”

  
Leon removed one of his hands from his pockets to card fingers through blond hair in frustration. “Frankly, yes. I know he is my father, Marx, and so do Camilla and Elise. The difference is that we also know when it is time to face reality. He is not the man we knew.”

  
“Yes, he is!” Mahogany eyes gazed down at his father’s face, void of consciousness. “Look at him. Is this not the face of the man who raised us? He was always there when we needed him, and now you suggest that we abandon him in the darkness that plagues his mind when there is a way to help him find the light.”

  
“There is no way to help him! All you have to offer are a few theories that you haven’t even tested yet.”

  
“But I will test them, and I have faith in my work. So far, my research with animals has been successful. If I can produce the same results with a human subject, I could free Father’s mind from the hell it is suspended in.”

  
“How do you expect anyone to consent to such experimentation?”

  
“Surely, there is someone willing to contribute to something with such life-changing potential.”

  
“You are talking about human beings, Marx! You wish to put the life of someone who is healthy and functional in the balance for one dying man because you refuse to act rationally!”

  
Silence fell over the room save for the sound of Leon’s footsteps as he crossed the room to retrieve his coat from the chair it had been draped over. “This is not only ridiculous, but selfish. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve other things to do than indulge your childish fantasies. I will tell Flora to set aside some supper for you.”

  
“Thank you.”

  
He watched his brother go, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders and turning to give him one last glance with pity bleeding into the bitterness reflected in russet eyes. Marx did not doubt that Leon believed him suited for asylum life as well, but the thought did little to deter him. When the door closed behind him, Marx turned to once again look at the motionless man lying beside him. Fingertips brushed feather-light over skin so cool it was just short of alarming, and so deathly pale it had taken on a hue of ashy grey.

  
“I will find the answer,” he murmured, taking hold of one of his hands again. “I’ll never desert you.”

  
Tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks, but he blinked them back. This was not the time for crying. If anything, Marx was determined to use what little time was left to perfect his work. He knew the days were numbered, be he’d be damned if he did not take each one for all it was worth.

  
“I promise you this, until the day that I die.”

  
For all the years his father had given to raising him and each of his siblings, Marx felt a sense of being indebted to him. He had been the one to encourage his dreams of becoming a doctor, after all. Besides that, he was family, and Marx loved him. Following the loss of his mother, Marx had become increasingly close to him, and to even imagine letting him go at this point was almost too devastating to fathom. It was not time to say goodbye yet. He would prove to Leon, his family, and to the world that neither he nor his father were a lost cause.

  
With a new sense of determination, the doctor released his father’s hand, strode across the room to retrieve his coat, and then came to stop at the bedside once more. He bent at the waist, then briefly pressed his lips to his forehead.

  
“Goodnight, Father.”


	2. the doctor's plea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so. in this au, corrin was raised with the hoshido family. sumeragi is a single father to corrin and the other siblings. there was never any kind of sibling-type relationship between herself and marx. he'll probably still call her little princess tho bc i can't let that go. anyway. here's more trash.

 

Anxious fingers drummed on the wood of a podium as Marx watched his audience file in: The Board of Governors of the Hospital of Cyrkensia. Though the group was small, their presence may as well have filled the entire conference room. Each one of them looked so perfectly pristine, with starched collars and diamonds around their necks. He felt compelled to steal away to the restroom to ensure each button on his shirt had been fastened and each strand of wavy blond hair was neatly tied back. Although, inside-out and disorderly wardrobe malfunctions were more his brother’s thing.

            “Cease with your fidgeting,” a voice scolded, followed up by a hand clapping down on his shoulder. “By god, you’re making _me_ nervous.”

            “Ah!” Marx jolted, but upon seeing the familiar face of Lord Sumeragi, relaxed a bit. “I apologize, Sir. You startled me.”

            Sumeragi was a kind man; one of those “father to everyone” types. He was the chairman of the board, and his adoptive daughter, Corrin, was to be wed to Marx in the near future. It was not long ago that he proposed, and Sumeragi had been gracious in granting his blessing for Marx to ask for his daughter’s hand. The family was rather high up in society, which had made the doctor anxious, but Sumeragi had stayed uninvolved in Corrin’s romantic affairs, letting her follow her heart when choosing a spouse rather than concerning herself with reputation.

            He frowned, crossing his arms. “What have I told you about all of those formalities? You are practically family. Sumeragi will do just fine.”

            “Again, I apologize.” The doctor smiled, half-hearted and wary. “It’s just that today may be the most important day of my life.”

            At that, Sumeragi cocked a brow, shooting the other man an inquisitive glance. “ _The_ most important? I happen to know someone who may think otherwise.”

            “Oh. Oh, of course!” Warmth flooded Marx’s face, tinting his cheeks a bright shade of red. “I assure you, my marriage to Corrin is important to me. I love her more than I can express.”

            “Please, spare me the theatrics,” Sumeragi laughed. “Had I doubted your intentions, I would not have given my blessing. I only wished to scare you. It isn’t often I see you so on edge. Not to take advantage of it would be a crime.”

            Before Marx had the chance to reply, both he and Sumeragi noticed the sounds of the gathered audience rising to a dull roar, indicating that everyone was in their seats and engaging in small talk while waiting to proceed. The chairman of the board glanced toward the small crowd.

            “I believe that’s our cue. Best of luck, Doctor.” He gave Marx a firm handshake, then made his way to the podium. Sumeragi looked out at the crowd and cleared his throat, donning the more serious façade he so often wore in the presence of other nobility. “It is my pleasure to introduce the Board of Governors of the Hospital of Cyrkensia: His grace Azama the 14th Bishop of Hoshido, Lady Candace, Lord Shura, General Lord Gunter, and Silas Stride.”

            After a rather dramatic intake of breath, the chairman continued. “Today’s topic of discussion: Consent of Dr. Marx Nohr to proceed in his research with a human subject. Dr. Nohr, the floor is yours.”

            “Yes, thank you.” He steeled himself, then approached the podium and was immediately greeted with several scrutinizing pairs of eyes. The thump of his heartbeat thudded in his ears, and he swallowed thickly. Each one of them wore an expression of unbridled judgement, and an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness seized his chest. He knew, though, that he would never be given an opportunity such as this again, and refused to go down without a fight. He inhaled shakily.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I am on the verge of a scientific breakthrough. Good and evil reside in all of us, but what if I told you I had found a way to isolate one from the other?”

            He paused, allowing his statement to resonate with the audience. A hushed murmur sounded from the group, and he waited for it to die down before continuing, pleased to have provoked some sort of reaction. “Through a series of injections of rare drugs, I have been able to directly change the behavior of several animals. I am on the cusp of perfecting my formula, which has the possibility to alter the mind and thus, save those whom society has deemed as lost. All I ask is for your permission to carry out further research with a human subject.”

            “Absolutely not.” The first voice to speak out had belonged to the bishop. “The church will not have it. What gives you the right to play God?”

            “Oh. No, Sir. I am not playing God. I do not wish to control, but to heal.”

            Lord Shura crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and looking at the doctor with skepticism. “And you wish to conduct these experiments you are uncertain of on a human soul?”

            “Well, yes— “ The collective gasp of the crowd had cut him off, but only for a moment. “I wish to conduct them on a prisoner; someone society has already abandoned.”

            “And you would perform this _surgery_ on them?” Lady Candace interjected.

            Marx heaved a sigh, reaching for the pitcher of water and pouring himself a glass that would go untouched. He could feel the heat rising in his face and reaching the tips of his ears. Frustration coiled in his gut. “I _told_ you, it is not a surgery. The procedure takes the form of a series of injections.”

            At that point, the group had broken into a small uproar, with protests flying freely and all order lost. Marx was not one to resort to shouting, but his chance was slipping away more with each passing second. Urgency trumped rationality. “Please! I beg you to consider it. I could save many lives if you will grant me one man!”

            “Of course not!” exclaimed the Lord General, “This is sacrilege!”

            Marx opened his mouth to retort, but it was then that the chairman had decided to intervene. “Enough!” He waited for everyone to quiet down. “All in favor, say ‘ay’”

            Marx held his breath, only to deflate when silence filled the room.

            “And all opposed,” instructed Sumeragi, “say ‘nay’”

            The response was immediate, with all opposing save for Silas, who had opted to abstain. The group disbanded shortly afterward, with mumblings of “delusional rantings” and “witchcraft” somewhere in the flurry of conversation the doctor happened to catch. That reassuring hand found its way back to his shoulder, but Marx did not bother to meet his eye.

            “I’m sorry,” Sumeragi offered, giving Marx’s shoulder a light squeeze.

            “It isn’t your fault they’re fools,” Marx replied with a bitter bite to his tone. “They are too closed minded to help those that need it. They are nothing but hypocrites.”

            “Yes, but they’re powerful hypocrites.” A pause. “This truly is unfortunate, Marx, but do try to have a good time tonight.”

            It took him a moment, but upon realizing what he had been referring to, Marx nodded. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

            “I’ll be seeing you later, then.”

            “Right. Goodbye, Sumeragi.”

            Sumergi smiled, then made his way out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

            “Where is he?” Sumeragi muttered, scanning the crowded ballroom for any sign of Marx.

Beside him, Corrin bubbled with laughter, hooking her arm through his. She was a vibrant young woman, always treating those around her with kindness. She and Marx had become acquainted through his collaboration with her father. Her hand had been sought by many a nobleman, but Sumeragi granted her the liberty to choose a husband of her own, hence they awaited the arrival of Marx, who was running terribly behind schedule.

            “You fret over him more than I do, and _I’m_ the one marrying him,” she remarked.

            It was then that Lady Candace passed by, the ever-present look of disapproval on her face looking particularly prominent. She scoffed, stopping to loom beside Corrin with her arms crossed. “It is not in good style to be late for one’s own engagement party.”

            Corrin smiled politely back at her. “I’ve always been a firm believer that comments on style should not be made by those who have none.”

            Her offended gasp sent Corrin laughing again, but any retaliation Candace had planned was interrupted by Silas’s intervention. “My lady, if you don’t mind?”

            Corrin hesitantly accepted his outstretched hand, only to be swept into a dance that led them away from her father and into the middle of the dancefloor. Silas’s hand on her back pressed her close to him; close enough that she could feel his breath fanning over her skin as he spoke.

            “Still no sign of him? You deserve better than this.”

            “I chose him, Silas. I know what I want.”

            She frowned then, ruby eyes narrowing ever so slightly. If she wanted to, Corrin could have recited the speech she knew Silas was about to deliver word for word. The two had been extremely close since childhood, which may or may not have played a role in Silas gaining a seat on the Board of Governors. Not all things were so easily acquired, however. The love he harbored for Corrin throughout the years had always been unrequited, and though she had always tried her best to be gracious about it, Silas had never been very good at hiding his feelings.

            Admittedly, he was a handsome young man. That much, Corrin could agree on. He was still in his twenties, with bright eyes and a heartwarming smile. Finding a suitor would be easy for him, if he ever managed to move on. For his own sake, Corrin wished he would.

            “Are you sure you do?” he argued, “There are better suitors out there for you.”

            “Like you?” she asked, peering up at him with furrowed brows. “Silas, I am engaged. I have found my happiness. Now, my wish is for you to find yours. However, you will not find it here.”

            Over his shoulder, she could see a familiar head of blond hair working through the crowd, and she grinned. “I apologize, Silas, but I must cut our dance short. I wish you the best in your endeavors.”

            Corrin’s fingers held fistfuls of her voluminous skirt as she quickly made her way through the maze of dancing couples. The smile that came to Marx’s face upon seeing her was like a bolt of lightning to the chest, sending her heart racing. He met her in the middle of the floor and kissed the back of her hand.

            “You’re late,” she said. The sing-song tone of her voice betrayed the scolding nature of her words.

            “I know, and I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

            At that, she scoffed, intertwining their fingers. “Everyone seems to like telling me about what I deserve. It’s a good thing I know for myself.”

            “Yes, but I love you too much to have you suffer for the sake of my work.”

            “And I love you, but you _must_ ease up on the dramatics. Waiting for you to arrive at a party is not suffering. I chose you. I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

            Corrin found herself wrapped up in Marx’s arms, with his lips pressed to her forehead. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that, because I’m afraid I won’t be letting you go that easily.”

            “You aren’t letting me go at all. This is an engagement party, not a funeral.”

            At that, he chuckled, allowing himself to smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

            She nodded, then leaned her head against his chest and allowed herself to be swayed in time with the music that was playing.

            “And Corrin?”

            “Yes?”

            “Thank you.”


	3. good and evil

The remainder of the party passed by in a whirlwind of small talk and merrymaking. Faces both friendly and unfamiliar wished him luck and congratulations throughout the evening. He had gradually worked his way through the masses with an arm loosely draped around Corrin’s waist, and he could not help but marvel at her seemingly boundless ability to talk about most anything with anyone while managing to maintain a smile that appeared genuine. By the time he was free to seek out his siblings, he looked rather socially drained.

            “I know you are the doctor here, but I must say, you look a bit worn out.” Corrin smiled and reached up to fuss with a few golden strands of hair that escaped Marx’s ponytail. “My father is probably looking for me. I’m surprised he hasn’t sought me out yet. In the meantime, I believe you have family waiting for you as well.”

            “Right.” He exhaled, then allowed himself a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll find you later.”

            With that, she nodded, and he watched her go, her skirts gliding along the floor and adding to the effortless grace with which she seemed to live and breathe. He wondered, as he often did, why a woman like her would choose to settle with him. So often, his work took priority over several aspects of his life, and she was the type of woman that one should dedicate their life to. Not that she demanded such respect. In fact, it was quite the contrary. He felt that she did not demand enough, and feared others may take advantage of her graciousness.

            His reflection had been interrupted by a tug to his sleeve, and he looked down to find another head of blond hair; his youngest sibling, Elise, gazing up at him with her infamous puppy dog eyes. Instantly, he felt guilty for not having found her sooner. The influence of that wide-eyed expression had been _some_ sort of black magic, he was convinced, and he could probably carry out a study all its own about Elise’s powers of irresistibility.

            “There you are, big brother!” she practically sang, taking hold of one of his hands and starting off in the direction from whence she came. “Camilla and Leon were looking for you. We’ve been waiting all night! Hmph.”

            “My apologies, Elise.” His apology had been heartfelt; he truly felt sorry for having not joined them earlier, especially since they had done most of, if not all the arranging of the event.

            “It’s alright. I might forgive you if you promise to save me a dance later.”

            “How could I not?” He leaned down closer to her ear and murmured, “Between you and I, you are my favorite dance partner.”

            “You mean it?” she asked, excitement lighting up her features.

            “Yes.” Marx chuckled, then stood upright and ruffled her hair. “Don’t tell Camilla, though.”

            “I won’t!”

            The distant sound of heeled shoes clacking on the hardwood floor grew closer. “What are we not telling Camilla, now?” a voice drawled.

            Marx turned to see a tall woman slinking through the crowd. Thick lavender hair had been pinned into an intricate mass of curls sitting atop her head, and the way her dress clung to generous curves had stolen the attention of nearly any of the guests that happened to catch a glimpse.

            “Camilla.” Marx cleared his throat. “Your timing is impeccable as always.”

            “What sort of sister would I be if I didn’t mess with you a little?” she hummed, pinching his cheek with a gloved hand.

            “A good one,” replied, lightly swatting her hand away.

            “Elise, you run along now. I’ve got adult matters to discuss with our dear brother here.” Camilla shooed her away, watching her skitter off toward the table loaded with various sweets.

            “Adult matters?” Discussing such things with Camilla never turned out to be a good experience. In most cases, it turned out rather humiliating. “Camilla, I’m sure whatever it is can wait until we are not in public.”

            “Oh, relax. Your paranoia is only proving my point.”

            “What point?”

            “My point that you need to have a bit of fun.” There was something devious shining in her violet eyes that made Marx the slightest bit fearful.

            “No. Whatever it is, Camilla, no.”

            “Would you let me finish?” She waited, and when her brother failed to interject again, continued. “Leon and I were planning a visit to the Black Wyvern with some friends, and figured you ought to come along and loosen up a bit.”

            “That is a gentleman’s club, is it not? In case you haven’t noticed, sister, we are currently at my _engagement_ party. I cannot be seen in such places.” A moment of thinking, and then his eyes widened. “Wait, Leon is a part of this? You’re lying.”

            “Believe it or not, he is a young man.” Despite his protests, she carried the same eerily collected manner she always had. “A young man who happens to agree that you need a change of pace from doing nothing but working and fretting over Father’s condition.”

            At the mention of their father, Marx tensed. It was clear that none of his siblings would ever truly encourage his endeavors in saving him. Perhaps one unsavory outing could be his ticket to at least getting them out of his hair for a while. A night at the Black Wyvern in exchange for a week or two without their nagging seemed like a decent trade.

            “Alright,” he relented, “I will go, but that will be all. You will have my presence, but not my participation.”

            Camilla grinned, then kissed her brother’s cheek. “Splendid. I’ll inform Leon. We plan to leave in about twenty minutes.”

            “Fine.” Marx sighed in exasperation and went to say his goodbyes.

 

* * *

 

            The backstage doors to the Black Wyvern burst open, and a very disheveled, out of breath young man came stumbling through the door. His face was red with a combination of fatigue from his lengthy sprint back to the club and embarrassment upon his running late. The doors swung shut behind him, and he leaned his back against one, bent over with his hands on his knees as he gasped for air.

            “ _What_ do you think you are doing?” A shrill voice that he knew all too well sounded from the bunched up curtains, and from the wings of the stage marched Selena with her complexion burning nearly the same crimson as her hair. “You’re late again. You’d better have a good excuse for me, Laslow.”

            “Betchya he was down in the park listenin’ to all them speeches again!” Peri called cheerfully from where she was fastening the buckle of her shoe.

            “Yes, I was, actually.” He stammered, standing up straight and making quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. “I like to listen.”

            “If you like to listen so much, why not listen to me for once and show up on time?” Selena chided, digging through an old trunk and tossing Laslow a jacket.

            “I’m sorry,” he apologized, donning the red garment over his bare chest. “I just want to learn.”

            “You can start by learning some punctuality. Iago is awfully angry.”

            “Well, doesn’t that make for a nice change?”

            Selena groaned, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who you all—”

            “Think you are,” the group finished in unison.

            “Be ready. You’re on in five minutes,” she grumbled, then stalked off.

            Laslow watched her go, then set to work on discarding his brown trousers in exchange for the white ones Selena had set aside for him. They were a bit too snug for his liking, but he figured the Black Wyvern was not exactly the place for comfort.

            “Oi, don’t look so down.” Laslow looked up to see Odin offering him a smile. Laslow returned it with little enthusiasm.

            “Am I ever going to get out of here?” he asked to no one in particular. “I feel like I’m damned to always be this. To be… nothing.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Zero questioned from across the room, and Laslow could see the warning glint in his single slate grey eye.

            “No, no. I don’t mean to say that any of us are worthless. We aren’t.” Laslow huffed, trying to find the right words. “It’s just that no one knows who I am.”

            “’Course we do!” piped Peri, “you’re Laslow!”

            “What I mean is no one knows what I have to offer the world, I suppose.”

            Zero snorted, followed by an accompanying slap to Laslow’s behind. “Well, they know what you’re offerin’ _here_.”

            “And that’s exactly my problem.” He grunted, yanking on a pair of tall black boots. “I’m going to die someday and people will have only known me as some tramp from the Black Wyvern, if they even knew me at all.”

            “Aw, come on, Laslow. You got a lot of life left. Who knows what you’re gonna do with it?” Odin patted his shoulder. “Now put on that smile we all know and love. The curtain’s openin’ soon.”

            “Right,” he agreed, and then took his place.

 

* * *

 

            Upon his arrival to the Black Wyvern, Marx almost immediately wrinkled his nose. The small venue reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and something else that he felt he most likely did not want to know. A woman with a rat’s nest of red hair greeted them at the door, and was a bit too friendly for his liking.

            “Come in, take a seat!” she exclaimed, and looped her arm through Marx’s. He had half a mind to pull away, but that would have been rude. “I think you’re going to _love_ the new guy.”

            At that, Camilla laughed, then took a seat at a table near the back of the room. Marx felt a bit relieved knowing that they at least would not be front and center for whatever performance was about to take place. He settled into a chair himself and leaned with his elbows on the table, his fingertips drumming on the wooden tabletop. Leon had ordered them drinks, but he hadn’t given his input. He promised presence, not participation.

            A drumroll sounded and stole his attention away from fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt. Torn, musty curtains parted to reveal a small group of scantily clad men and women. He knew exactly the sort of establishment he was in, but that didn’t stop his breath from catching in his throat. His eyes were immediately drawn to the young man in the middle of the cluster, sporting a bright red pirate jacket, left unbuttoned to reveal his naked torso. Off-white trousers were perhaps a bit too tight, tucked into black leather boots. The hat he donned had been a bit dramatic, but Marx supposed it did its job in tying together the outfit.

            The man had begun to sing, and the doctor was rather impressed with his vocal skills. Nothing, though, could compare to his dancing. Marx’s hand tightened on the glass of whatever alcohol Leon had ordered for him, and contrary to his earlier protests, he found himself quite literally chugging the beverage with the need to escape the unbearable heat that had crept up on him. Just as he was about to excuse himself from the situation, he processed just exactly what the young man was singing about. Lyrics pertaining to the nature and truth of good and evil were enough to keep him planted in his seat. Of all places for inspiration to strike, the Black Wyvern was not one Marx would have guessed.

            Between the man’s dancing and the message of his song, Marx had no choice but to remain ensnared for the remainder of the performance, and was almost disappointed when it had ended. What the dancer had said about good and evil residing in everyone launched him into an epiphany that could only be broken by the sound of a sharp crack sounding through the club. He looked up to see the performer cradling his cheek, and a man Marx had not seen before making a grab for his throat.

            “You were late again,” Marx heard him hiss.

            “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” The dancer rasped.

            “Damn right it won’t. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight. I’ll be up to your room later to show you just how good.” He released his throat, shoving him away.

            “Lucky me.”

            Marx was out of his seat in seconds, making a beeline for the edge of the stage where the man sat, hunched over and breathing deeply. “Are you alright?”

            “You talking to me?” he asked, brown eyes narrowed in confusion.

            “Yes, of course I am. Is there anything I can do for you?”

            He sighed, sitting up a bit straighter. “Yes. You can tell me if the rest of my face is still there.”

            “Oh. Well, yes. It is. It’s a lovely face.”

            “Oh?”

            “Does it have a name to go with it?”

            He smiled then, and cocked his head to the side. “Laslow. And you are?”

            “Dr. Marx Nohr, but just Marx will be fine.”

            Laslow crossed his arms, shamelessly letting his eyes roam the doctor’s body. “Oh, good. That’ll be a lot less of a mouthful to be calling out later.”

He could see Marx’s face flush, causing him to laugh. “So you’re a doctor? I’d ask what a man like you is doing in a place like this, but I’ve learned not to question a miracle when I see it.”

            “Oh, no,” Marx stuttered, “I think you have the wrong idea. I’m engaged to be married.”

            “Oh, you’re right. I’ve never heard _that_ one before.” Laslow rolled his eyes.

            “Laslow.” Marx’s tone was firm. Laslow’s smile dropped.

            “Okay, okay. I get it. If you ever are looking for a good time in the future, though, I’m the guy, and this is the place.”

            Marx could do little but nod. He dug through the pocket of his jacket, then held out a small slip of paper to the other man. “My card. For if you ever need a friend.”

            He watched as Laslow hesitantly reached out and took it, then added, “and I mean it. A friend.”

            “Got it.”

            “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe your performance has finally given me the answer I need in regard to the next subject for my newest experiment.”

            “You lost me.” Laslow blinked in confusion.

            “I need to get to work immediately. Thank you, Laslow. Goodnight.”

            “’Night.”

            Laslow watched the doctor go, deciding he liked the way his name sounded in his voice.


	4. alive

 The chilly nighttime air greeted Marx with faint gusts of wind once he had made his way out of the Black Wyvern and into the street. He supposed he could have taken the carriage, but to do so would be to abandon his siblings with no form of transportation to take them home once their galivanting was through. Out of courtesy, he had opted to make his return on foot, only to slightly regret it once he felt the patter of raindrops on his head. A little fall of rain could hardly lower his spirits, however. Inspiration had struck, and the incessant racing of his mind with a plethora of new thoughts blocked out most worldly matters.  
  
        When he arrived home, his coat was damp and wet strands of hair clung to his neck and the sides of his face. The bottoms of his trousers were sopping from having stepped in puddles, and Flora looked positively appalled when she rounded the corner into the living room.  
  
        “Sir,” the maid fretted, scurrying to remove the coat from his shoulders, “what happened? Where are your brother and sister?”  
  
        “Everything is fine,” he said, assisting her and shrugging off the coat with haste, “I came home early. Leon and Camilla are still out.”  
  
        “So you walked home in the rain?”  
  
        “Yes, I did. I trust Elise made it home safely?”  
  
        “Of course. She’s already gone to bed.”  
  
        “Thank you, Flora. Now, I have something I must get started on. Please refrain from disturbing me unless absolutely necessary.”  
  
        “Yes, Sir.”  
  
        The maid bowed curtly then left the room. Marx departed as well, making his way through the corridor and down the set of stairs that led to the basement. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a small key, then unlocked the heavy door to his laboratory. Once it had closed behind him, he made sure to lock it again, just in case a curious or, under the current circumstances, _drunken_ , sibling decided to make an appearance. The room was modest, with several shelves of old books that smelled of dust and a couple of large tables cluttered with a multitude of beakers, vials, tools, and the like. On one of them sat a rather large book, open to a blank page. Marx had been using it as a journal of sorts in tracking the progress of his newest project.  
  
        Fingers grasped a nearby pen, then set to work on jotting down the date in his intricate, curved handwriting. “October fifteenth. Half past midnight,” he muttered, then paused.  
“I have decided, despite numerous rejections and protests, to proceed with my work. I have started it alone, and now, I will finish it alone. After much contemplation, I have come to realize that good and evil lie within us all. Each and every one of us is comprised of characteristics both moral and immoral, even myself. Therefore, I do not require a subject. I will be my own subject. I am a man, and like any man, I am flawed. Heaven and hell reside in me, and today, I will attempt to isolate one from the other. I admit, the thought of conducting my own experiments on myself makes me hesitant, but I have come too far to turn back now.”  
  
        He set the pen aside, then ran his hands down the sides of his face and began pacing. The silence of the isolated laboratory made the internal battle he fought with himself louder in his mind. His voice of reason pleaded with him not to go forth with his experimentation. There were too many things that could go wrong.  
  
        Something louder drowned out the cautionary warnings. There was another voice involved in the dispute, and it was stronger; much stronger than his rational thinking. It was the desire to prove those who doubted him wrong. It was the knowledge that right before him was the power to potentially change the world. It was the excitement that came with knowing it could very well be the moment he had been working toward for so long, and he was not about to let that moment pass, odds be damned.  
  
        Marx halted his pacing, inhaled, then picked up from the table the little glass vial filled with vibrant red liquid and held it up to the light. In that one small container lied the labors, hopes, and dreams of years of work and study. He stared at it for a few seconds, both mesmerized and intimidated. The task was awfully daunting, but he refused to allow himself to be afraid.  
  
        He carefully emptied the contents of the vial into a syringe, then placed it on the table. One of the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to expose his forearm, and he washed his hands and what was to be the site of the injection in the nearby water basin. When he took hold of the syringe again, he noticed his fingers trembling and willed himself to be still. Years of study to become a doctor had granted him the gift of a steady hand when needed. A few deep breaths, and then he watched the tip of the needle disappear beneath his skin.  
  
        The syringe ran empty, and he set it aside to pick up the pen once more. “I have injected five centiliters of the revised formula,” he mumbled while he wrote.  
“It has a slightly bitter taste. It stings the gums.” He paused, feeling a new and rapidly intensifying warmth spreading through his body. “Warm in the gullet. A prickling heat is rushing through my veins.”  
  
        The world around him had begun to sway ever so slightly, and a new feeling of dizziness set in, making writing increasingly more difficult. “Lightheadedness. A slight feeling of euphoria.” The doctor paused to burst into a small bout of spontaneous laughter. “No noticeable behavioral differences.”  
  
        He grinned. Finally, he would prove to everyone that his theories were true. With a successful experiment, he would show them that his work could change lives, and make them realize that they had missed an opportunity to contribute to a discovery that would revolutionize medicine and human nature itself. Marx would save his father and change the world for the better.  
  
        And then there was pain. He had never felt anything like it in his life. It was a new kind of agony, akin to that of a roaring fire searing its way through his body and burning him alive from the inside. He managed to scribble a few notes before collapsing to the floor in an episode of convulsions that left him wondering if death had come. Truly, these were the fires of hell that consumed him. Fingers clawed at his own skin, hoping that perhaps he could tear himself free of the fiery prison of his body. He pulled at his hair, his clothes, anything he could grab onto in an attempt to anchor himself. Tortured screams were ripped from his throat and echoed off laboratory walls, and then... silence.  
  
        The burning had stopped as suddenly as it started, and after catching his breath, he stood slowly before stalking back over to where his journal sat on the table. “One o’ clock, and all is well.”  
  
        The voice that rumbled in his throat was new; deep, gravelly, and resonating in a tone that would strike a feeling of dread into the hearts of most. He caught a glimpse of himself in a small mirror situated nearby amongst the clutter of supplies. Blond hair hung unkempt around his face in haphazard waves, brushing hunched shoulders. Deep circles were prominent beneath his eyes, the purple tint stark against his pallid face. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, but despite it all, he had never felt so _alive_.  
  
            “An unexpected development,” he chuckled lowly to himself. There was an overwhelming feeling of exhilaration that came with the change, like he could take on an entire army and emerge victorious. It was a feeling of pure freedom; pure _power_. A new fire burned within him, and the invigorating sense of drive fanned the flames.  
            The journal had been hastily slammed shut, along with the laboratory door on his way out to an impromptu night on the town.  
 

* * *

  
            Elise stood on the side of one of the dimly lit streets of Krakenburg, a basket full of pink roses on her arm. Every once in a while, she would collect them from the garden at home and make her way into town to sell them. Her business had always been rather successful, considering the majority found it nearly impossible to refuse her. That being said, she knew her siblings would be displeased with her sneaking out of the house at such a late hour, so she kept her flower vending affairs a secret.  
  
            Midnight had passed, giving way to the wee hours of the morning, and traffic had slowed significantly. All was quiet save for the clearly intoxicated man sitting on the stoop of a house, butchering a handful of barely recognizable songs on his violin. Elise figured it was time to call it a night. Most of the town was asleep, and those who weren’t normally were not the type of clientele she wanted. She started on her way home, only making it a short distance before the sound of a voice beckoning to her stopped her in her tracks.  
  
            “Elise,” called the stranger, “What are you doing out so late, my dear? Don’t you know there are dangerous people that walk these streets at night?”  
  
            She turned her head to see the looming figure of a man emerge from the darkness. He was tall, but with a hunched over stance. A top hat sat upon a tangled mop of blond, and though his eyes were sunken, something ominous sparkled behind them. What caught her attention, however, was the pink rose tucked into the breast pocket of the vest he wore, visible beneath his unbuttoned coat. She had given Marx one just like it before the party earlier that night. As she came to think of it, the vest itself highly resembled that of her brother’s.  
  
            “Who are you?” she asked, her knuckles whitening from her tight grip on her basket, “How do you know my name? And why are you wearing my brother’s clothes?”  
  
            “Don’t fret, Elise,” he cooed, inching closer, “I’m a friend of your brother’s. We’re colleagues, in fact. I was unable to make it to the party, so I met with him and your siblings on their night out. I’m such a terrible clod, I spilled some of my drink on myself. Marx was kind enough to lend me his vest to cover the stain.”  
  
            “Oh.” She thought about it for a moment. “I guess that makes sense.”  
  
            “Allow me to introduce myself.” He smirked. “My name is Xander.”  
  
            “I’m Elise,” she chirped, returning the smile. “You already knew that, though.”  
  
            “Indeed. Your brother talks about you a lot.”  
  
            “All good things, I hope!”  
  
            “Oh, yes. Very good things. He always goes on about how kind you are. How you’re so good and could do no wrong.” His smile widened into something sinister. “It’s a shame to think he’s been mistaken all this time.”  
  
            “Huh?” Elise pouted, instantly on the defensive. “I didn’t do anything!”  
  
            “On the contrary, my dear. I believe it is far past your bedtime. Does your family know of your whereabouts?”  
  
            “Oh. Well, no.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I only do this to help, though! If I make any money, I give it to the poor people on the street. I just wanted to do a good thing…”  
  
            “Chin up, darling. I won’t say a word this time. Actually, I’m here on different business.”  
  
            “What do you mean?”  
  
            “When I was out with your siblings earlier, Marx was telling me all about how horribly guilty he felt for having forgotten your dance. He _did_ promise to save you a dance at the party, didn’t he?”  
  
            “Right!” she exclaimed in recognition, “he did. It’s okay, though. He wanted to go have fun, and it’s his night after all.”  
  
            “Such a sweet girl,” Xander hummed, patting her lightly on the cheek. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to make up that dance he missed, if you’ll do me the honor.”  
            “Dancing in the street?” Elise giggled. “That’s kind of silly, but okay!”  
  
            Elise decided she liked Xander. In a way, he reminded her of her brother, the way that he placed her feet on top of his and begun to sway the two of them to the off-key melody played by the drunkard on his worn-out violin. She smiled and laughed, her basket of flowers still on her arm as they waltzed along the road, and was glad to have made a new friend. When she got home, she would have to remember to ask Marx about his mysterious colleague in the morning. Perhaps they could have him over sometime.  
  
            “Wow, it’s a little late for carriages,” Elise mentioned at the distant sound of one approaching.  
  
            “You’re right.” Xander nodded in agreement. “Peculiar, isn’t it?”  
  
             “We need to get out of the way.”  
  
            “Of course,” he said, and then took his time to relocate to the side of the street. He glanced up ahead and soft laughter shook his chest.  
  
            “What?”  
  
            The horses galloped nearer. Whoever was in that carriage had been in some sort of hurry to be traveling at such a speed. His hands tightened on Elise’s waist. The fear in her eyes was so _perfect_ he almost regretted what he was about to do. He wished he had a portrait of that expression; that unbridled fear. It was intoxicating.   
  
            “I’m afraid this is your last dance, my dear.”  
  
            The last thing she saw before being shoved in front of the oncoming carriage was his wicked grin. She was knocked to the ground by the force of the horses, and her skull was crushed between pounding hooves and cobblestone. Wheels broke bones and ripped flesh as they passed over her, leaving Elise as little more than a mess of blood and roses.  
  
            The carriage came to a screeching halt, but Xander had already disappeared down the block, heading for the front doors of the Black Wyvern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the lack of updates. finals and all that. also i know this is moving at like. the speed of sound but i'm not taking this fic too seriously it's just a fun pastime. kinda the bare bones of an au that i really liked for these characters. thanks for reading though it's pretty awesome that people are taking an interest in this.


End file.
